The cry of “never again,” raised by so many in the years after the end of the Holocaust 1945, has rung increasingly hollow with the passing decades, Kofi Annan, former secretary general of the United Nations, protested in an op-ed Friday in the International Herald Tribune. “The Holocaust remains unique … but instances of genocide and large-scale brutality have continued to multiply — from Cambodia to the Congo, from Bosnia to Rwanda, from Sri Lanka to Sudan,” he said. “It is surprisingly hard to find education programs that have clearly succeeded in linking the history of the Holocaust with the prevention of ethnic conflict and genocide in today’s world.”

Mr. Annan is honorary president of the advisory board for the Holocaust Education and Genocide Prevention Program at the Salzburg Global Seminar

The full text of his op-ed, titled “Myth of ‘never again’”, follows:

Many countries in Europe and North America now require all high-school pupils to learn about the Holocaust. Why? Because of its historical importance, of course, but also because, in our increasingly diverse and globalized world, educators and policy-makers believe Holocaust education is a vital mechanism for teaching students to value democracy and human rights, and encouraging them to oppose racism and promote tolerance in their own societies.

That was certainly my assumption in 2005 when, as U.N. secretary general, I urged the General Assembly to pass a resolution on Holocaust Remembrance, which included a call for “measures to mobilize civil society for Holocaust remembrance and education, in order to help to prevent future acts of genocide.”

Indeed it might seem almost self-evident that Holocaust education would have that purpose, and that effect. Yet it is surprisingly hard to find education programs that have clearly succeeded in linking the history of the Holocaust with the prevention of ethnic conflict and genocide in today’s world.

Of course, prevention is always difficult to prove. But the least one can say is that the cry of “never again,” raised by so many in the years after 1945, has rung increasingly hollow with the passing decades. The Holocaust remains unique in its combination of sophisticated technical and organizational means with the most ruthlessly vicious of ends, but instances of genocide and large-scale brutality have continued to multiply — from Cambodia to the Congo, from Bosnia to Rwanda, from Sri Lanka to Sudan.

Few countries at present, even among those that require their teachers to teach the Holocaust, give them any specific training or guidance on how to do so. And few teachers in any country have the knowledge or skills to teach the Holocaust in a way that would enable today’s adolescents, who often represent within a single classroom a wide variety of ethnic and cultural backgrounds, to relate it to the tensions they encounter in their own lives. More and better teacher training is surely needed.

But do we know what the content of that training should be?

If our goal in teaching students about the Holocaust is to make them think harder about civic responsibility, human rights and the dangers of racism, then presumably we need to connect the Holocaust with other instances of genocide, and with ethnic conflicts or tensions in our own time and place. That would enable students not only to learn about the Holocaust, but also to learn important lessons from it.

The time has surely come to ask some hard questions about “traditional” Holocaust education, and perhaps to rethink some of the assumptions on which it has been based. Are programs focusing on the Nazi system and ideology, and particularly on the horrendous experience of their millions of victims, an effective response to, or prophylactic against, the challenges we face today?

It is easy to identify with the victims. But if we want to prevent future genocides, is it not equally important to understand the psychology of the perpetrators and bystanders — to comprehend what it is that leads large numbers of people, often “normal” and decent in the company of their own family and friends, to suppress their natural human empathy with people belonging to other groups and to join in, or stand by and witness, their systematic extermination? Do we not need to focus more on the social and psychological factors that lead to these acts of brutality and indifference, so that we know the warning signs to look out for in ourselves and our societies?

Do current education programs do enough to reveal the dangers inherent in racial or religious stereotypes and prejudices, and to inoculate students against them? Does the teaching of the history of the Holocaust at classroom level sufficiently link it to the root causes of contemporary racism or ethnic conflict? And shouldn’t the Holocaust be studied not only in Europe, North America and Israel but throughout the world, alongside other tragic instances of human barbarism?

Such questions will be at the heart of a conference this month at the Salzburg Global Seminar, in Austria, on “The Global Prevention of Genocide: Learning from the Holocaust,” held in cooperation with the United States Holocaust Memorial Museum. Organizers hope this will lead to an annual program for teachers from around the world.

This is certainly not a problem with a “one size fits all” solution. Teaching the Holocaust to a class in Ukraine is obviously different from teaching it in Israel, and indeed is likely to vary widely even between different districts of a European city. But insights and examples can surely be shared with advantage, and it seems fitting that Austria — which provided both victims and perpetrators of Nazi atrocities in abundance — should be hosting such a program.

The current exchange of charges and counter-charges between retired Gen. Sarath Fonseka and President Mahinda Rajapaksa must be particularly confusing to those Sri Lankans who consider both to be war heroes rather than war criminals. Many from the ethnic Sinhalese majority feel that, regardless of the human costs in the last months of the long-running civil war that ended last year, both leaders deserve credit for finally finishing off the terrorist Tamil Tiger rebels.

With the Sinhalese nationalist vote thus split, the two candidates are focusing their energies on winning the votes of the country’s minority ethnic Tamils — which is surely one of the stranger political ironies of early 2010. After all, both General Fonseka and Mr. Rajapaksa executed the 30-year conflict to its bloody conclusion at the expense of huge numbers of Tamil civilian casualties.

By early May, when the war was ending, the United Nations estimated that some 7,000 civilians had died and more than 10,000 had been wounded in 2009 as the army’s noose was being drawn tight around the remaining rebels and hundreds of thousands of noncombatants, who could not escape government shelling. The final two weeks likely saw thousands more civilians killed, at the hands of both the army and the rebels.

After the war, the Tamils’ plight continued. The government interned more than a quarter million displaced Tamils, some for more than six months, in violation of both Sri Lankan and international humanitarian law. Conditions in the camps were appalling, access by international agencies was severely restricted, and independent journalists could not even visit. Barbed wire and military guards insured people could not leave or tell their stories to anyone.

By the end of 2009, most of the displaced had been moved, and the nearly 100,000 remaining in military-run camps were enjoying some freedom of movement — important steps brought about mostly as a result of international pressure and the authorities’ desire to win Tamil votes. However, a large portion of the more than 150,000 people recently sent out of the camps have not actually returned to their homes nor been resettled. They’ve been sent to and remain in “transit centers” in their home districts.

Now, put yourself in a Tamil’s shoes, and decide whom to vote for in the presidential election: Choose either the head of the government that ordered the attacks against you and your family, or the head of the army that carried it all out.

On Jan. 4, the Tamil National Alliance, the most important Tamil political party, made its choice and endorsed General Fonseka after he pledged a 10-point program of reconciliation, demilitarization and “normalization” of the largely Tamil north. There is some hope his plan might be a sign that top leaders realize that, after decades of brutal ethnic conflict, peace will only be consolidated when Sinhalese-dominated political parties make strong moves toward a more inclusive and democratic state.

What counts more than campaign promises, though, is what the winner actually does in office, and based on past performance, it is hard to imagine either candidate making the necessary constitutional reforms to end the marginalization of Tamils and other minorities — the roots of the decades-long conflict. Left unaddressed, Tamil humiliation and frustration could well lead to militancy again.

While Sri Lankan voters face a difficult decision, for the international community, the choice is clear. Whoever wins, the outside world should use all its tools to convince the government to deal properly with those underlying issues to avoid a resurgence of mass violence. In the interest of lasting peace and stability, donor governments and international institutions — India, Japan, Western donors, the World Bank and the Asian Development Bank — should use their assistance to support reforms designed to protect democratic rights, tie aid to proper resettlement of the displaced, and a consultative planning process for the reconstruction of the war-ravaged, overly militarized north. U.N. agencies and nongovernment organizations should have full access to monitor the programs to ensure international money is spent properly and people receiving aid are not denied their fundamental freedoms.

In short, this means not giving Colombo any money for reconstruction and development until we know how it will be spent. And if we see funds not being used as promised, it means not being afraid to cut them off until.

While there may not be much to choose between the candidates, the rift between General Fonseka and Mr. Rajapaksa — and the consequent divisions among Sinhalese nationalist parties and the renewed vigor of opposition parties — has at least put the possibility of reforms on the agenda. International leverage, correctly applied, could help expand this small window for change, leading to the democratization and demilitarization the country desperately needs to move finally beyond its horrific war and its bitter peace.

Chris Patten is co-chairman of the International Crisis Group.

The 20th anniversary of the fall of the Berlin Wall has just been celebrated. For many, that momentous event marked the so-called end of history and the final victory of the West.

This week, Barack Obama, the first black president of the once-triumphant superpower in that Cold War contest, heads to Beijing to meet America’s bankers — the Chinese Communist government — a prospect undreamt of 20 years ago. Surely, this twist of the times is a good point of departure for taking stock of just where history has gone during these past two decades.

Let me begin with an extreme and provocative point to get the argument going: Francis Fukuyama’s famous essay “The End of History” may have done some serious brain damage to Western minds in the 1990s and beyond.

Mr. Fukuyama should not be blamed for this brain damage. He wrote a subtle, sophisticated and nuanced essay. However, few Western intellectuals read the essay in its entirety. Instead, the only message they took away were two phrases: namely “the end of history” equals “the triumph of the West.”

Western hubris was thick in the air then. I experienced it. For example, in 1991 I heard a senior Belgian official, speaking on behalf of Europe, tell a group of Asians, “The Cold War has ended. There are only two superpowers left: the United States and Europe.”

This hubris also explains how Western minds failed to foresee that instead of the triumph of the West, the 1990s would see the end of Western domination of world history (but not the end of the West) and the return of Asia.

There is no doubt that the West has contributed to the return of Asia. Several Asian societies have succeeded because they finally understood, absorbed and implemented the seven pillars of Western wisdom, namely free-market economics, science and technology, meritocracy, pragmatism, culture of peace, rule of law and education.

Notice what is missing from the list: Western political liberalism, despite Mr. Fukuyama’s claim that “The triumph of the West, of the Western idea, is evident first of all in the total exhaustion of viable systematic alternatives to Western liberalism.”

The general assumption in Western minds after reading Mr. Fukuyama’s essay was that the world would in one way or another become more Westernized. Instead, the exact opposite has happened. Modernization has spread across the world, but it has been accompanied by de-Westernization.

Mr. Fukuyama acknowledges this today. “The old version of the idea modernization was Euro-centric, reflecting Europe’s own development,” he said in a recently published interview. “That did contain attributes which sought to define modernization in a quite narrow way.”

In the same interview, he was right in emphasizing that the three components of political modernization were the creation of an effective state that could enforce rules, the rule of law that binds the sovereign, and accountability. Indeed, these are the very traits of political modernization that many Asian states are aspiring to achieve.

Asians surely agree that no state can function or develop without an effective government. We feel particularly vindicated in this after the recent financial crisis. One reason the United States came to grief was the deeply held ideological assumption in the mind of key American policymakers, like Alan Greenspan, that Ronald Reagan was correct in saying that “government is not a solution to our problem; government is the problem.” Fortunately, Asians did not fall prey to this ideology.

Consequently, in the 21st century, history will unfold in the exact opposite direction of what Western intellectuals anticipated in 1991. We will now see that the “return of history” equals “the retreat of the West.” One prediction I can make confidently is that the Western footprint on the world, which was hugely oversized in the 19th and 20th centuries, will retreat significantly.

This will not mean a retreat of all Western ideas. Many key ideas like free-market economics and rule of law will be embraced ever more widely. However, few Asians will believe that Western societies are best at implementing these Western ideas. Indeed, the assumption of Western competence in governance and management will be replaced by awareness that the West has become quite inept at managing its economies.

A new gap will develop. Respect for Western ideas will remain, but respect for Western practices will diminish, unless Western performance in governance improves again.

Sadly, in all the recent discussions of “the end of history,” few Western commentators have addressed the biggest lapse in Western practice. The fundamental assumption of “the end of history” thesis was that the West would remain the beacon for the world in democracy and human rights. In 1989, if anyone had dared to predict that within 15 years, the foremost beacon would become the first Western state to reintroduce torture, everyone would have shouted “impossible.”

Few in the West understand how much shock Guantánamo has caused in non-Western minds. Hence many are puzzled that Western intellectuals continue to assume that they can portray themselves and their countries as models to follow when they speak to the rest of the world on human rights.

This loss of moral authority is the exact opposite outcome that many Westerners expected when they celebrated the fall of the Berlin Wall in 1989.

Does this mean we should give up hope? Will the world become a sadder place?

Probably few in the West remember the last paragraph of Mr. Fukuyama’s essay. He wrote: “The end of history will be a very sad time. The struggle for recognition, the willingness to risk one’s life for a purely abstract goal, the worldwide ideological struggle that called forth daring, courage, imagination and idealism, will be replaced by economic calculation, the endless solving of technical problems, environmental concerns, and the satisfaction of sophisticated consumer demands. In the post-historical period there will be neither art nor philosophy, just the perpetual caretaking of the museum of human history.”

Here, too, as the 21st century unfolds, we will see the exact opposite outcome. The return of Asia will be accompanied by an astonishing Asian renaissance in which many diverse Asian cultures will rediscover their lost heritage of art and philosophy.

There is no question that Asians will celebrate the return of history. The only question is: Will the West join them in these celebrations, or will they keep waiting for the end to come?

Kishore Mahbubani is dean of the Lee Kuan Yew School of Public Policy at the National University of Singapore and the author of “The New Asian Hemisphere: The Irresistible Shift of Global Power to the East.”

Police in Naples said Wednesday that the suspects were picked up in cities including Rome, Genoa, Bologna, Naples and Palermo at the end of a two-year investigation. Two more were being sought in Naples.

Police believe the suspects, all Sri Lankan citizens, extorted money from their fellow nationals in the various cities and sent it home to finance the rebel group.

Luigi Bonacura of the Naples police said the operation effectively dismantles the Tamil Tiger network in Italy.

The Tamil Tiger rebels have fought since 1983 to create an independent homeland for Sri Lanka's ethnic minority Tamils.

When does a rebellion become a revolution? That's easy — when it wins. When does an uprising attain the level of an insurgency and qualify as an insurrection? That's harder to answer because the meanings of those synonyms flow into one another.

And when do all of the preceding amount to a civil war? That term usually denotes the struggle of an armed group of citizens within a nation seeking forcibly to seize control of the government from those in power. But that does not reflect the complexity of the war in Iraq today, which makes it hardest of all to define.

The linguistic dogmas of civil wars past are inadequate to the stormy present. In olden times — a generation or so ago — civil war required each major combatant to control some territory, have a functioning central authority and be recognized by some outside country — or some combination thereof. But guerrilla operations, suicide attacks on civilians, secret foreign support angrily denied, counterfeit uniforms and splintered insurgent forces supported by foreign terrorists make obsolete the past definitions of civil war — especially when the insurgents or terrorists are trying to overthrow a new government backed by a coalition of foreign troops.

Small wonder, then, for the current verbal warfare in the United States over what label we should attach to the hostilities in Iraq. The Bush administration prefers sectarian strife between Shiite and Sunni religious groups, triggered by terrorists and Saddamists backed and supplied by totalitarian Iran and Syria. That language emphasizes the global stakes in the central front of the war on terror and supports goals of ensuring stability of the elected government followed by withdrawal of our troops over time. The furthest that administration spokesmen will go is to use the civil war phrase with qualifiers.

Contrariwise, the departing UN secretary general, Kofi Annan, took the position two weeks ago that civil war was not nearly a strong enough description.

"When we had the strife in Lebanon and other places," he told the BBC, "we called that a civil war. This is much worse."

In the debate among Americans, advocates of a more rapid withdrawal see the coalition led by the U.S. not as building a democracy after liberation from a dangerous dictator but as an interloper in a civil war, and consider it only realistic to press for adoption of that label. In pressing that phrase, they get across the message "We don't belong in the midst of another country's internal conflict."

Soon after the recent U.S. election victory of Democrats, the definers of the nature of the fight as a civil war made a tactical lexical breakthrough in the media. A few days after The Los Angeles Times began describing the fighting in Iraq with that phrase, Matt Lauer of NBC announced that his network had adopted the usage.

Lest this be seen as a "Cronkite moment," recalling the CBS anchor's denunciation of the Vietnam War as being "mired in stalemate," James Poniewozik of Time magazine noted that "polls and common sense indicated that most Americans already believed Iraq's sectarian fighting was a civil war."

The Iraq Study Group's report took pains to avoid the phrase.

In The New York Times, under the headline "A 'Civil War' in Iraq Is Putting Words on Trial in America," its media reporter, David Carr, noted that for months the newspaper had been modifying civil war with phrases like "on the brink of" and "on the verge of.'

Call the fighting what you like, but the name you choose to give the hostilities, strife, violence or war not only reflects your view about the current state of affairs but is also an indication of where you stand on what the policy should be.

Labels are the language's shorthand for judgments.

Extracts of IHT article published on December 17, 2006